KinSource - Tale of the Week

KinSource

Minnesota Tales

The St. Paul Daily Globe, September 8, 1895, p. 8

UP IN THE SKY.

AN EX-SAILOR CLIMBS THE PIONEER PRESS FLAG STAFF.

VIEWED BY A CROWD.

HE LOOKED NO MORE LIKE A MAN THAN THE NEW WOMAN.

WHEN HE REACHED THE TOP.

The Pole Sways Back and Forth Like a Fishing Rod, but He Is Perfectly Unconcerned.

More than 150 people will suffer this morning from a severe ache in the back of their necks. This is because Henry Olafson, an ex-sailor, has the instincts of a fly. The 150 first laid eyes upon Henry at 5:30 p. m. yesterday, when he was 250 feet above their heads. They were grouped around the corner of Fourth and Robert streets, and Henry was on top of the Pioneer Press building flag staff. Half way from the sidewalk to the roof of the building a man looks to others below as he appears to his own wife. Upon the roof he seems to the street gazer as insignificant as a Populist, while at the top of the flag staff he resembles a man little less than does the new woman. The people below yesterday raised their chins in the air like canary birds taking a drink, and fixed upon the man above a mingled expression. If he should chance to fall, they would evidently regret to be present, yet they would be equally sorry to be absent.

The flag staff rises thirty feet above the top of the building. It is placed at the outside corner of the roof and only a few feet from the very edge. To the spectator away down upon either street the substantial, six-inch mast resembles a bamboo fishing rod. Through one of those scurvy tricks in which we are constantly being deceived by that sense on which we place the most reliance, the slender rod seems to hang out beyond its tall granite foundation and hold, glittering above the distant pavement, the gilded ball that crowns its head.

The rope used to elevate the flag recently became displaced from the pulley fastened at the end of the staff, and in order to adjust it Henry Olafson started yesterday to ascend the pole.

HE WORE NO SPURS

such as are employed by telegraph lineman, nor was he fastened to the mast by any belt or other contrivance, although he seemed so attached by the rope which he held in his hands. Olafson went at his task in the old, original way, the primitive method employed, no doubt, by Adam, when, in his early married life, he ascended to the top of inconvenient, prickly coacoanut trees, particularly hard on a man in a bathing suit, merely to get "a love of a little nut" and hear Eve whisper fondly that he was "just the bravest man in the world, so he was." Olafson grabbed the irresponsive pole and hugged it with Andalusian fervor. Then he gently raised one foot, passed it around the further side of the pole, and pointed his right toes down Robert street. His left foot sprang up with a jerk, crossed over its companion, and pointed toward upper Fourth street. The people below drew their breaths with gasps, and got ready to dodge the entire aerial combination when, as seemed assured, it came crashing down upon the car track.

But Olafson was thinking other thoughts. He slid down upon himself, raised his hands upward, snuggled up to the post as if they were engaged, then straightened himself out as if seeking one more kiss. The crowd winked and started. When they opened their eyes Olafson was a foot above the roof. Another hug preceded another upward leap. To the gazer below the flag staff was now clearly swaying. Forward and backward it appeared to move, each time making ready to lurch forward with its clinging, live burden, and descend upon one hundred and fifty different heads. Olafson said afterwards that the mast was as solid as the national treasury. Thus, at every leap upward of the little bunch of humanity on the celestial fishing rod, the crowd in the street started simultaneously backward, preparing to escape, and each time they all concluded to remain until the corpse actually arrived.

When Olafson at last reached the top and began work on the recalcitrant rope, the spectators began to lose interest in the distant proceedings. Some even allowed their chins to drop from the elevation maintained during the previous half hour, and it was manifest that, if the modern man abhors the risking of human life by way of public amusement, he is actuated by education and not by instinct.